Quiet Eloquence
by FallingWithGrace
Summary: Ryan Evans has been lost and broken ever since a heartbreaking accident. The most unlikely person at East High, Troy Bolton, may be the only one left who can save him, through an ultimate battle of strength and will, before it's too late. TROYRYAN SLASH
1. Prologue: Blind

**Author's Note**: Well, I decided to try something new, I guess. This is just the prologue, it's rather short, so I'm really sorry about that. It _will _get better—the next chapter will have something about Ryan. So just review, please, and I hope you enjoy it.

**prologue.**

Troy Bolton was sort of blind.

No, not completely.

He could see the basketball coming at him from wherever he was on the court. He could see the constant love and admiration from the students at East High. He could see the compassion in his girlfriend Gabriella's eyes as she practiced with him for each incoming musical East High performed. He could see the pride in his father's eyes. He could see the loyalty in his friends—the basketball team. He could see that his life was pretty much perfect, he was on top of the world—the God of East High.

Yet Troy Bolton was blind.

He walked oblivious to all the problems that surrounded him. He didn't see what life was when he wasn't there, even though it was right in front of him all along. He didn't see the hate that broiled and lashed out at those who were different. Sometimes there were signs, but Troy didn't see them.

He didn't look anywhere else but besides what was coming at him. Everything was coming to help him: the team, the support, even the musical—they had all come to help him. He didn't realize how blessed he was; he took it all for granted. In that way Troy Bolton was naïve.

He didn't see anything that didn't directly help him so Troy Bolton was blind.

But then, during his senior year, Troy Bolton began to see things: that the world wasn't so kind to everybody—that life wasn't so perfect after all. And then, when that happened, Troy Bolton saw the world through changed eyes, and he didn't like it.

**Author's Note**: It wasn't _that _bad, was it? It was a prologue, so it _had _to be short—the next chapter will be longer, I promise, and you'll get an inside look at Ryan Evans and what "accident" has really happened. Review please.

-Falling With Grace


	2. One: Forever Silent

**Author's Note**: I still don't own any of the characters in _High School Musical._ I do own the plotline, so no stealing. This chapter is really full of angst, and I guess a bunch of different styles. I felt like experimenting to see what I could do, and I hope you like it. Review please. Thanks for all the other reviews. This chapter is a lot longer than the last one—the prologue—as promised.

**one.**

_Forever Silent. _

Ryan Evans shuffled his feet nervously, rubbing his scuffed shoes together and running his hands protectively over his arms. The chair was soft enough, nothing was hurting, but he still didn't want to look up. So he kept his eyes on the floor, making himself believe it was fascinating.

And that nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong. _Nothing was wrong._

"Mr. Evans?" There was the gruff question in the voice of Principal Hatsui.

Ryan reluctantly drew his eyes from the matted, stringy gray carpet and up to the gaze of the principal of East High. He didn't want to be thought of as stupid. He could hear. He focused crystal blue eyes on Principal Hatsui who sighed in pity and pushed back a strand of dark hair, slightly adjusting his wire-framed glasses. Ryan felt himself tense under the surveillance of the principal. Ryan knew better than anybody what Principal Hatsui was staring at, but he didn't say anything.

Principal Hatsui broke his stare, and looked nervously into his sweaty palms. Ryan felt vaguely uncomfortable—he hated this denial when people pretended nothing was wrong while they knew that something definitely was.

Principal Hatsui cleared his voice. "Mr. Evans, umm… Ryan, are you sure you want to return to East High? I mean… well, it won't do wonders for you emotionally."

Ryan flinched. He really didn't want to think about what had happened… what had happened that summer. God, why was he coming back to East High? It was going to hurt, he knew that. He was going to face torment, he knew that, but…

"Ryan, are you _sure _you want to return to East High?" Principal Hatsui's calm voice was becoming a bit more firm, a tone of impatience slipping into his voice.

Ryan glanced at his hands and considered his options. He could either go back to East High or go to another school and start over new. He subconsciously ran his hand over his neck, feeling the scars that littered the lining of his throat, and closed his eyes, thinking it over.

Why did he want to come back to East High? It would be so much easier if he just started over new… started over and forgot the accident, forgot everything…

That was why, he suddenly realized. He needed to go back to East High so he could remember, so he wouldn't forget. He couldn't forget, and he didn't want to—he wanted to be able to remember without hurting so much inside… remember all those plays he and Sharpay had done together, remember all the times they'd laughed, remembered all the times they'd helped each other through the teasing and lashing comments from their spectators. He couldn't forget her, and that was why he needed to come back to East High. He wanted to confront his fears, not run away from them.

His line of thinking was broken with a small noise from Principal Hatsui and he looked up. Remembering the question, he nodded in answer. _Yes._

"Is there any certain reason you want to come back?" Principal Hatsui's voice wasn't suggesting pity, it was mere curiosity and Ryan admired that. Most people would be affected a lot more deeply.

Ryan pulled the notebook that lay on the principal's desk towards him. Pulling a pencil out from the spiral rings, he held it in his trembling fingers, and flipped open the dark blue spiral notebook, pushing past several pages already filled with his writing. Ryan thought about how his father had told him he'd buy Ryan a talk pad so he could just scrawl out small messages that would type themselves out on the screen but knowing Mr. Evans, he'd probably forget soon enough and Ryan would have to stick with the notebook.

Principal Hatsui looked vaguely interested and Ryan grimaced. Sketching his light and small print across the paper Ryan started to answer the principal's question. He felt pressured to write more quickly, fearing he was making the principal impatient, and the quality of his writing began to diminish. He'd never been able to write very quickly and the fact hadn't changed even after the accident.

_I know that it will be hard to return to East High but I feel that I need to._ He wrote out every word; he'd always hated writing abbreviated words: even when he was talking online to somebody, he wrote out every word. It was just something that defined him, and he needed all the definition he could get right now. _Things have changed—I know that, Principal Hatsui. I know things aren't going to be easy for me this year because everything's so different. I've lost everything, but I don't want to go to another school—one for challenged people because I'm still the same person—things are just a little different now. And I know that this is what my sister would have wanted for me, I hope you understand. I want to show myself I can do this, because that's what's so important. I need to remember her—I can't just let her fade away._ His fingers started to hurt and as he finished, he dropped the pencil and rubbed his right hand between the fingers of his left hand.

The principal reached over and scanned the words quickly—a little too quickly, thought Ryan rather resentfully. He hated how he took so much time to write everything but then people read it in about half a minute. He really needed that talk pad—he hoped his father would get it for him soon.

"And about your…" Principal Hatsui struggled for the word and his voice tensed. "Weakness?"

_Disability_, Ryan thought wearily. He might as well say it—it wasn't like Ryan didn't know what he was referring to. Ryan pulled the notebook towards him again to answer.

_I've been studying sign language a lot—it will take awhile, but I'll eventually get the hang of it. I don't want anybody to know about the accident—I want them to think I'm quiet. I'll just get through it by myself, the best I can, and I guess that's all I can do for now. If things get really hard I guess I'll just drop out but for now I don't want anybody to know and I want to see if I can do everything by myself._

Principal Hatsui quickly read what Ryan had written and nodded.

"Here," he said kindly, handing Ryan a scarf he pulled from the drawer of his wooden desk. "You may want to use this."

Ryan nodded with appreciation and wrapped the scarf around his neck, covering up the scars that he knew were there. Principal Hatsui placed a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome back to East High Mr. Evans."

**…**

"Ryan Evans is back, did you hear?"

"So? I saw him, what's the big deal? Hasn't he's been here every year?"

"You didn't know?"

"Know what?"

"Oh my God it was like the biggest news for awhile! I can't believe you didn't hear?"

"Why don't you just tell me?"

"I didn't think he'd come back, I mean-"

"Just tell me already, would you?"

"Ok, this summer—I can't believe you didn't hear! Well anyway, I heard that they were driving—Ryan and Sharpay, that is—you remember Sharpay, right? 'The Ice Queen'—that one who was always the main star in Drama with him?"

"Of course I remember her, I'm not _that _stupid."

"Well anyway, Sharpay and Ryan got into a car accident and Sharpay died and Ryan was out for awhile—like unconscious—and for awhile they were afraid he wouldn't make it. But he did and nobody thought that Ryan would come back, I mean, Sharpay's not here anymore, so what's he going to do?"

"Oh, I feel really bad for him. She was his twin, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, she was. I feel kind of bad for him, but he's always been sort of umm… _different_, you know?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Isn't he gay?"

"Well, nobody really knows much about him. He was always sort of weird. I've never really talked to him, but he's back."

**…**

Troy Bolton couldn't take his eyes off of Ryan Evans. There was something really _different _about him this year. Troy knew about the accident. Their whole grade had heard and everybody had suffered from a small feeling of loss but it dissolved pretty quickly. Zeke had been crushed, and that was the main reason Troy had cared, but besides that, he hadn't minded too much. Besides, Zeke got over it much more quickly than was expected.

He knew it was a terrible thing to feel—complete indifference, but he couldn't control his emotions. Sharpay had never been that important to him, that affecting. He couldn't see where her death had impacted his life. In fact, her death actually helped him—he didn't have any competition left for the incoming musicals.

Well, that didn't include Ryan. But now, looking at the sullen and silent figure of Ryan Evans, Troy figured his competition with Ryan was dead as well.

First of all, he was completely quiet—not speaking at all, only glancing up at the people around him with a lifeless look in his hazy blue eyes. Only last year—as juniors—they'd been so lively, clear, and impulsively distinct, so ready to do anything. Troy had always wondered what would happen if Sharpay was taken away from Ryan, but now, with a sick and twisted feeling in his stomach, he wished that he'd never thought of that. The results were not pretty, and Troy could almost definitely cross Ryan off the list for competition for the incoming musical. He'd always thought that Ryan was in the constant shadow of his sister, but now he saw that it was more. Ryan _lived _on the influence of his sister and now with her death, it seemed as if he had died as well.

Second, when he looked at people, his eyes never made contact with them—as if they weren't actually there. He kept his eyes on his hands, or the floor, or some part that wasn't directly looking at the person, as if afraid to be hurt. It reminded Troy of a lost puppy, a scared puppy that had been beaten by the outside world. And as he saw this imperfection, he began to see how different life was and how his perfect utopia was not going to stay intact forever. How much a person could truly change, just over the progress of several months, scared Troy in a way he'd never realized before.

Third, the overall physical appearance of Ryan Evans. Last year, his hair had been a light blonde, his eyes alive, tall and lanky. This year he seemed so much smaller, skinnier. His face was thin, dark circles around his eyes from probable lack of sleep, his skinny fingers as they drifted over this dark blue notebook, sketching words out with a pencil. The dark green scarf around his neck made him look even more fragile and vulnerable, and Troy was scared.

And for some reason, he wanted to know what Ryan was writing. He wanted to know what else was different, because he knew there was something else… something that he couldn't place. He offered a small smile to the other teen, and received a vague grin of appreciation in return. Troy wanted to say he was sorry, but he didn't know how.

A torn piece of lined paper wrapped up in a ball was chucked at him from the desk behind him while Mr. Stroud was talking to them about the progression of history they were going to acquire this year. Troy unraveled it to read Chad's writing, which had once been described as "chicken scratch." _Hey. Ryan Evans is creeping me out—he looks even freakier than he did making out with his sister._

Troy smiled bluntly, feeling slightly ashamed. He grabbed a dull pencil and scrawled back in dark letters, _Don't worry _ _Chad__. If he tries to rape you, I'll save you. I am your best friend for a reason, right?_

He passed it back and received a snort of appreciation from Chad. It was highly suspected that Ryan was a homosexual. This was old news—the way Ryan dressed, the way he acted all added to that insinuation.

Beside him, another note came, this time in Gabriella's neat cursive. _Troy__, I feel kind of bad for Ryan Evans. I mean, his sister's gone and he's sort of quiet this year._

Troy changed to a completely different person, feeling artificial as he switched to the alternate side of his duplicity. _He'll be ok, Gabi. I'm sure of it. He'll get over it._

He passed it back to her and received a look of admiration and love from his girlfriend, but somehow felt like he was lying. He looked back at Ryan.

_I don't know if you can fight the power of the queers. You're not that strong, _ _Troy__. Lmfao._ A note from Chad.

_Come on, when have you known me to give into the fags? I'm not that weak _ _Chad__. Honestly, I thought you'd have better expectations of me. _

_I feel bad for him, _ _Troy__. Do you really think he'll be ok? I mean, he and Sharpay were really close. _

_Come on Gabi, trust me on this one. It only took me a week to get over the death of my duck. _

_You're right. You could take on 100 queers at a time, that is—unless they were going at it Brokeback style. _

_Lmfao. They'd get you first. _

_OMG Troy, that's really mean. LOL. _

_Well I am Mr. Funny Man. _

_Shut up _ _Troy__. I can't believe I'm going out with you. _

_Come on Gabi. You know you love me._

Chad smothered a laugh as he read the note Troy handed back to him and looked at Ryan Evans, who had been watching the note-passing going on. Chad gave him a look that clearly read, _What are you looking at?_ and Ryan broke the gaze to drag his eyes back to his notebook.

Troy watched this exchange of emotions and wondered why his heart twisted inside out.

**…**

_Ryan sighed tiredly. They always had to go wherever Sharpay wanted to go—they never once listened to him. It was her birthday again, and they decided to do what Sharpay wanted to do, even though it was _his _birthday too. Sometimes he hated the fact that they were twins. She'd always been the better one, the prettier one, the talented, beautiful twin while he was left behind, doing whatever she wanted. _

_He hated it. There was no doubt about that. He hated it, but there was not too much he could do about it either. He just went along with what they said: what they wanted to do for her and he pretended he liked it too. He owed Sharpay that. _

_She was his twin, he loved her. He'd do anything for her—he just wished maybe one time his parents would ask _him _what he wanted to do, do something for _him _instead of Sharpay. So he went along with everything, which is why they were here—watching some musical which bored him out of his mind. He'd never really loved drama, it was something he just pretended to like, so Sharpay wouldn't feel guilty about making him star with her. He'd rather be doing something else—surprisingly, running. He had always been pretty good at running, he'd wanted to try out for track several years now. But no, he had to stay on his staff in the drama club. _

_Sharpay looked apologetically at him as the curtain closed. She knew he'd rather be spending his—no, _their—_birthday somewhere else. "Come on Ryan, I'm really sorry about this. How about we stop at Serendipity to get some ice cream or something?" _

_Ryan weakly tried to protest. "I don't mind…" His voice came out absolutely pathetic-sounding, an obvious lie, and Sharpay saw it. _

_"Ryan, I'm not stupid. I'm your twin after all. I mean, come on, I know you'd rather be somewhere else instead of watching '_The Phantom of the Opera,' _and I'm really sorry that we always have to go where I want to go and you don't get a say at all, even though it's _your _birthday too." _

_Ryan didn't say anything because Sharpay was right. _

_"Come on, let's go get something to eat. Come on, I'll drive _and _I'll pay." _

_Ryan gave his sister a weak smile and she grinned mischievously back at him. "Don't get used to it, Ry. This is just once, you know." _

_And a once that would never be obtained. _

_Ryan climbed in next to his sister who was driving at the wheel. Sharpay was always such a careful driver, always so responsible and though she was favored—the "better" child, Ryan didn't say anything because she was better in his eyes. She _was _the one who deserved to be the favorite, and he loved her. She tended to act indifferent and cold, but she meant more to him than anybody else did. He was looking at her, loving her care and precision as she kept her eyes on the road, loving her light blonde hair, loving her chocolate-colored brown eyes. That was different about them. Sharpay's eyes were brown and caring while Ryan's were blue and constantly dancing. He looked at her and thought about how truly lucky he was to have her, have this angel in his life. _

_That's when the car hit. _

_It came out of nowhere, pummeling through the cars, and hitting them straight on. The glass shattered, Ryan heard Sharpay scream, the airbag exploded. Their car swiveled off the street, colliding with another car, screaming, blood… _

_Everything went black as Ryan reached out to touch his sister's hand. _

_Sharpay never woke up. _

_And Ryan almost never did. _

_He woke up two weeks after the accident, heart-broken when he found out about her death. He'd cried, silent tears dripping down his face. They were silent because Ryan could no longer speak, as he soon found out. _

_The glass had impaled his throat in many parts, gouging deep into his neck. The doctors had tried to remove the glass without hurting him, but it was impossible. They had to remove his larynx, and Ryan was now forever silent. Never to sing, never to dance, never to fly again. _

_Never to talk again for Sharpay. And for that, his parents blamed him._

_He killed their perfect child. And he died on the way, a now soulless body, trying to find the reason to keep on going._

**Author's Note**: It will take awhile to get into the TroyRyan slash, so just wait for it. I just thought I might as well explain the accident—there will be more details and effects of it later. I'm trying a bunch of new styles—there may be some notes in Ryan's notebook, some conversations, some more confrontations. But for now, review and tell me what you thought of it. I wanted to try out some new styles, so this was my attempt. Like it? Reviews please.

-Falling With Grace


	3. Two: Eyes So Cold

**Author's Note**: Here's an update—it's rather fast, I know, but I love writing this story so much it's rather unhealthy. Thank you for all the reviews, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I still don't own anything except for this plotline.

**two.**

_Eyes So Cold._

_Beep._ The monitor released a small sound and Troy looked up wearily, pulling his head up from his sweaty palm, distracted from his reverie. _Beep._

_God, where is Dad anyway?_

He promised he'd come—he'd promised, but he was probably busy with something, or else he was just hiding his feelings as usual…

Troy glanced up sadly at the figure on his bed. His mother. She'd been so strong, so beautiful…

That was until the cancer struck. She lay motionless on the soiled bed sheets, her glossy brown hair reduced to dead strands. Her skin was a translucent sallow color. Her eyes were closed, the IV attached to her arm, the respirator allowing her to breathe softly, in and out, in and out…

And she never woke up the entire time.

The silence settled over him, and he scooted up next to her bedside, kneeling next to her on the ground. His fingers ran over hers, so thin and deprived of nutrition.

_We don't know how long she's going to keep on living. We can't guarantee anything, maybe a week, maybe a month, maybe a couple of months._

So far it had been two months. Two months since she'd been diagnosed, two months since she'd remained motionless.

And Troy had been there every single day.

It was something only his closest friends knew about—Chad, Gabriella, and several others. He came to the Albuquerque Hospital every day, even during the summer. Now that school had started, he came in with his homework, doing all of his schoolwork sitting on the ground. Sometimes, he refused to leave her at nighttime, staying by her side at nighttime, even if it meant sleeping on the ground. Mr. Bolton didn't like this, and when he could, he pulled Troy back home.

It was so silent in this empty hospital. A nurse poked her head in, her red curls brightening the room considerably. "Hello Troy."

"Hi Maggie," he replied shortly. Spending so much time in this empty hospital, he'd learned the names of many of the nurses.

"Still here?" Her voice was a small question of pity but she tried to hide it through layers of artificial cheery brightness.

"Yeah." His tone was final and definite, seeming to say, _I'm not leaving anytime soon, if that's what you mean._

"Ok, let me know if you want anything." She smiled, her dimples prominent, and turned to leave.

Troy smiled and waved to her, running his hands through his brown hair. "Bye."

He turned to his mother's motionless body now. He liked being alone with her, he felt less uncomfortable.

Reaching up to touch her cold hand again, he sighed. "Hey Mom, it's me again. Troy."

She didn't answer. She never answered, only the steady beeping of her monitor was the reply to his quiet conversations.

"So Mom…" he paused, trying to find the correct words. "What happened today? Well, Ryan Evans—you remember him, right? He came back and none of us figured he would because of what happened to Sharpay—I told you about that, remember? Well he's back at East High and there's something different about him only I can't figure out what. He's really quiet and really shy… well, his sister died on him of course." Troy paused in his absentminded chatter. He suddenly felt so cold, so afraid. His mother could end up like Sharpay anytime. Shuddering slightly, he changed the subject. "Gabriella's doing fine, Mom, she's still beautiful as ever. Chad's doing great too, he really likes Taylor—you know that girl, the one you call the 'smart-looking girl who's going to do great things.' Kelsi—the playmaker, she's writing a new play which should be interesting. I'm going to try out of course, Mom. And of course I'm playing basketball again, I mean, Dad would kill me if I didn't." He chuckled hoarsely, more trying to comfort himself than out of humor. "Dad says he'll be over here Mom, Dad's doing fine too."

He let out a small weak moan of frustration and ran his hands over his mother's lifeless one again. She was so cold, so limp, and he missed the wild-spirited woman she had once been.

"Mom…" his voice broke in pain and he tried to prevent the tears that were coming through his voice from showing. "Mom, it's really different this year without you, Mommy. It's so quiet and so… I don't know, Mom. It's like the whole world needs you and everything's so wrong without you here." There was a small pause as he breathed in hard; trying to figure out what to say and quickly ran the back of the hand over his dark blue eyes, feeling the wetness of the tears against his skin. "It's ok, though Mommy. Just rest as long as you need to."

…

Ryan pushed through the doors of the Albuquerque Hospital, stepping rhythmically to the beat of his heart. He checked his watch anxiously, and sighed a soundless noise of relief. He still had five minutes to spare—luckily he wasn't late or else he wouldn't be getting a check-up for another two months.

He walked casually now, more easily, his heart stopping its pounding racing. Getting into an elevator, he pressed the button for Level 3 and waited until the elevator managed to creak up. Ryan had always been rather patient, never truly pressed for time and even more so now. It seemed that it didn't matter, he'd already run out of time.

Clutching his notebook to his stomach, he exited the elevator and maneuvered himself among the familiar curves of the building which he had visited too many times in the last few months. He entered a sky blue colored room and smiled hesitantly at one of the nurses—one of the many he'd come to know over these couple of months.

Hannah, a nurse notorious for her sarcastic comebacks, softened as she saw Ryan. He was one person she didn't play her practical jokes on. "Hello love. Are you waiting for Dr. Fletcher?"

Ryan nodded straight-forwardly, his hands tightening lightly on the green scarf that Principal Hatsui had given him. He'd wanted to remove it for the whole day, but he knew better than anyone else why he couldn't.

"He'll be with you in a second, Ryan, dear. He's probably helping someone else now." Hannah's voice was sweet and genuine, as many of the people who knew Ryan rather well. His innocent expressions melted them; pure and unblemished as an angel—except for the area around his throat. Ryan nodded again, not being able to respond in any other way.

"So how was your day, dear?"

Ryan sighed silently to himself—he was tired of writing, which he had been doing all day long for the teachers once they assigned the rest of the class some work to do and beckoned him up to their desks. They had already been informed about the true details of the situation, but they were still curious—Ryan knew they just wanted to gossip, so he gave them the truth and nothing but, receiving some disappointment from teachers such as Mrs. Darbus. His slender fingers grasped the pencil from the spiral binding and pulled it out, flipping the notebook open. He was willing to write for Hannah—she'd become rather like a mother figure that he'd never had.

_It was ok. I have a lot of homework, but I guess the teachers felt sorry for me, so they gave me less than I expected. I had this tutoring course on sign language with our special ed teacher at school, her name's Mrs. Murray. I learned some, I guess. Her daughter's deaf, that's why she knows how to speak it. I didn't want to tell anyone about what happened, so I pretty much stayed quiet._

"Well, you don't really have an option for that, do you, love?" She chuckled silently, rather pityingly, shaking her head at the unfairness of life.

_They just think I'm really, really silent now, I guess._

"That's ok, Ryan. The silent ones are always the beautiful ones, you know."

_Pfft, yeah right._

A few soft laughs from Hannah. "I hope things get better for you. I'm always here for you, Ryan dear."

_I know. Thanks._

There was a touch against Ryan's shoulder and he looked up. "Mr. Evans, I think it's time for your check-up."

…

Dr. Fletcher removed the scarf from Ryan's neck once he'd lied down on a steel examining table. He flinched slightly, and Ryan grimaced. It still shocked people, even after they'd seen it so many times. He knew the best out of anybody, he still looked in the mirror and wondered what on earth had happened.

Jagged scars lined his throat, each one prominent. There were the small ones, where only small shards of glass managed to squeeze their way in, but most of his neck was still decorated with gashes. Some of the cuts were deep marks, some on their way to healing, but Ryan still looked like a soldier who had survived through many battles and tortures. Which in fact, was rather the truth.

Dr. Fletcher probed in several areas and Ryan breathed in hard, trying to prevent himself from showing any pain. It still vaguely hurt, and he grimaced as the doctor's skilled fingers drifted over his skin.

"You know why I have to do this, right?" Dr. Fletcher's voice rumbled from above him.

Ryan nodded _yes_, but inside he was thinking _no._

Dr. Fletcher seemed to read his mind. "Your larynx was removed—that's why you can't speak, but some shards of glass are still located inside your throat. The shattering windshield—that released many different pieces of glass into your neck, but we couldn't remove them all. That's why we have to check up on you, every month, to see if any have removed so if they have, we can remove them. You understand?"

_Yes,_ Ryan nodded.

"You know what you have to do then, until we get them all out?"

Ryan was rather unsure, and Dr. Fletcher decided to answer his own question again. "You have to keep yourself out of trouble. Avoid fights, and if you do get into some, make sure they don't hurt your neck. If they do, glass might impale some other part of your neck, and then… well, let's say things are not going to be pretty, in other words, you may die. So keep yourself occupied with things other than fighting, ok, Mr. Evans?"

Ryan nodded. It sounded so simple, but he didn't know how wrong he was.

…

"There's someone still in Room 401. Aren't visiting hours over?"

"Oh, that's the Bolton kid."

"Isn't that the room with that lady who has cancer?"

"Yeah, that's Melissa Bolton—his mom. He's been in there every day since she was diagnosed, excepting a couple of days when his dad comes in. Usually he doesn't stay for very long, but I guess that's one of those times."

"How late does he stay?"

"Usually until around 7, but sometimes he spends the night. You know the one—good-looking with brown hair and blue eyes. Really rather polite—not as polite as the Evans kid but he can't speak, so you've got to remember that. His dad's the captain of the basketball team for East High—they won the championships last year and he's supposed to be amazing at basketball—their MVP."

"Where's his father?"

"I don't know. His father—Jack Bolton—he's been a bit crazy ever since it happened. I don't think he can actually believe it—he always just shuts himself away. The whole family's sort of falling apart."

"What does he do? I mean, there's not much you can do with an unconscious woman."

"What he always does. Talking to her."

…

"Troy? It's Gabriella."

"Hi Gabi. What's up?"

"I just wanted to know if you were doing ok."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for calling—I really appreciate it."

"How's your mom?"

"…Same as usual, I guess."

"Ok, I hope you're hanging in there."

"I'm pretty good. Thanks."

"I love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

…

"Chad, I really can't talk now. I'm sorry."

…

_Sharpay,_

_I just found that it helps to write all these things out to try to get all these feelings out of my head before I explode. It helps—I'm not so frustrated once I do this, so I'm writing to you to let you know what happens because I know that's what you want._

_I've been kind of scared. I mean, Chad's been looking at me like there's something weird about me. I think he's guessing something. Gabriella's been pretty nice—Jason said "hi" to me._

_Troy Bolton's been acting weirder than usual. I know you swoon every time you hear his name, so I decided I might as well put something about him in. He keeps looking at me like I've got a huge zit on my face—he doesn't know about the scars though. I don't know what's going on in his mind._

_Most people are assuming I'm quiet. It's sort of funny, actually. I'm a whole lot more quiet then they'd ever figure out. I'm sorry, Shar, I've never been so great at making jokes and I know you're just rolling your eyes at me now._

_Some of my teachers are trying to help me, but some are just nosy—a.k.a. Mrs. Darbus._

_Of course I'm not trying out for Drama this year, Sharpay. There's no mute role… at least I don't think. And I really don't want anybody to find out, so I'm not going to ask anybody, not even Kelsi._

_So how are you doing, Shar? Is it nice up there—I mean in Heaven of course, because I know you made it up there. And you're just happy up there with all those angels and peace. I really want you to be happy, and I know you are happy up there, right?_

_Shar, things are getting pretty hard between me and Mom and Dad. They aren't talking to me anymore, they're still pretty shaken up about well… you died Sharpay, there's no denying it._

_Did I kill you, Sharpay? Do you blame me? I just want you to know that if I did, I'm so sorry… I can't even say how sorry I am in words, and that's pretty special since words are all I've been living on for these last couple of months. I know you don't blame me Shar, because you never really do, but I'm still scared because I don't trust myself anymore. If I'd have known what was going to happen that night, I'd have asked God ahead of time to take me instead of you because it seems as if that's what Mom and Dad really wanted, and that's what I would've wanted to, because you'd find a way to make it through without me unlike the way I'm acting about this over you. Even if you'd ended up dumb like me, you'd still have managed to find a way to sing and talk again._

_I miss you so much Sharpay. I really do. I miss how you sing in the bathroom, how you make me practice your drama exercises, how you put as much toothpaste as you can on your toothbrush so you can spit as much foam out as possible, even how you'd squeeze out your blackheads—hey, I'm just telling the truth Shar. I really miss you, even your disgusting habits that I'd always roll my eyes at, but now I really need you and I miss everything about you. Ever since you've been gone I feel like someone ripped half of me away and now I'm just standing there naked and vulnerable and I know you're thinking I'm disgusting again, but it's true. I've lost myself without you Sharpay._

_I know you're telling me to pull myself together, but it's hard Shar. You'd be able to do it. You'd be strong, I wouldn't even have to tell you to be strong because you've always been strong yourself._

_I'm not you though Sharpay. I've always been the weaker twin, I've always been different._

_I haven't been eating much Sharpay. I don't know if that's bad, but I haven't been eating and it's starting to show. I'm only 117 pounds—and I know you'd never get that heavy—but I'm an eighteen-year-old guy, Shar, and I don't think that's healthy._

_I haven't been talking—that's stupid—to Mom and Dad much either. I guess I just can't portray what I really feel to them, so I've just sort of given up on trying. You were their golden child, Sharpay, the angel, the perfect one. I was just the odd misfit that somehow ended up related to you, and I haven't been able to connect to them at all._

_There's more ways of hurting someone than beating him or her, you know Sharpay. The opposite of love isn't hate—it's indifference, and that's all they've been giving me. That's why I've been hurting, I guess._

_Well, what else happened today? I got a check-up with Dr. Fletcher—yes, the man who probes around in my neck. I talked to Hannah, and anyway, I've done enough whining and now I've got some homework I have to do, so I'll talk to you tomorrow or maybe the day after, Shar._

_I love you._

_Your brother,_

_Ryan_

**Author's Note**: Well, I _had _to connect Troy and Ryan _somehow_, so this is what I did. Like it? This chapter was too short—only 4 pages compared to the last 6, so I decided to elongate it and ended up with around 7. Anyway, if you like it, please review and keep reading. Keep reading _Tainted Promise_--I will finish it, but I really like this plotline. It's fun to experiment with these styles. Do you like it?

-Falling With Grace


	4. Three: Biting Agony

**Author's Note**: I hope I got this update soon enough. I really like this story, but it takes really long to write each chapter because I read it over like fifty times, trying to make all the words necessary. I get rid of all the words I don't need, and keep all the ones I do. I'm glad you're liking it, because I truly love your reviews. Again, I don't own any characters from _High School Musical_, except some of these characters I've created on my own.

**three.**

_Biting Agony._

Ryan bent over and held his knees, wheezing slightly, somehow feeling like his legs were going to give out on him.

Coach Bolton looked at the stopwatch that was grasped between his fingers. "1: 47 for one-fourth of a mile, not bad, Evans," he noted, arching one of his eyebrows.

Ryan gave the coach an appreciative grin and used his effort to pull himself upright. _So?_

Coach Bolton, as if sensing what Ryan was thinking, turned to the blonde and gave him a wide smile and a rather hard slap on the back. "You're on the track team. Congratulations, Ryan."

"Hey, good job," said Troy, giving Ryan a high five.

Ryan smiled in answer, his heart light for the first time in months.

…

"Hey Evans, what's wrong? You don't like getting what you deserve?"

_Please, stop. Please… God, please don't. Just leave me alone._

"Evans, are you a _queer?_"

_Yes, I am, are you happy? I like guys, not girls._

"Evans, are you going to _cry?_ Aww, the poor little fag is going to cry now, isn't that sad?"

Ryan shuddered slightly, jerking away almost instinctively before Chad's fist could connect with his stomach. He pulled his arm away from Chad's grasp, and turned to run but he tripped over Zeke's waiting foot, his body colliding hard with the dark grey pavement as a noiseless cry of pain escaped, his dark blue notebook spilling out on the ground in front of him only to find itself smashed under Jason's shoe.

_Leave me alone, please. I don't want to fight._

"What's this notebook, queer boy?" Jason bent to pick up the notebook and flipped it open to a random page, crumpling the smooth and flat papers under his careless fingers. "Oh my God, you guys, check this out! '_Dear Sharpay, Today I missed you more than usual—though of course, I miss you everyday. I love you—you have to know that. But sometimes I feel like Mom and Dad don't care for me at all, and sometimes I'm so jealous of you. No, I love you, Shar, don't worry. I really do, I love you so-' _My God, what a queer! You never told me you loved your sister, Evans, I'm sorry. Did you forget to say good-bye? Did you not save her before she was crushed under the car, Evans? Did you-"

He suddenly broke off, staring wide-eyed at Ryan who had pulled himself up from the ground. Chad and Zeke were too busy gaping at Ryan to react. Trembling with anger, Ryan formed his hand into a fist and punched Jason as hard as he could in his stomach. His entire frame shaking with fury, his blue eyes glanced at Jason's form, doubled over, and he snatched the notebook from the jock's hands and turned to run, pushing the green scarf around his neck, his skinny legs darting out from behind him.

Staring in disbelief at Jason's crumpled form, Chad and Zeke managed to process what had just happened. Chad's eyes narrowed in anger and he hissed, "That fag's going to pay…"

…

Troy kissed Gabriella good-bye for the day, and found himself wondering why he didn't feel the spark he had the last time. Full of strange disappointment, he hugged her, and climbed into his car. _I'm coming Mom._

…

After school that day, Chad, Zeke, and Jason learned something. No matter how much they hurt Ryan Evans—threw him up against lockers, kicked him in the stomach, slammed his head against the pavement—he never said a word.

…

"Mommy," whispered Troy, running his hands over his mother's lifeless ones. He'd just finished talking to her for an hour, and now the silence was unbearable. "Mommy, when are you going to wake up? Please, Mom, I need you. I really do. I miss you…" his voice arched up onto a higher note in pain. "_Please…_"

His mother lay motionless, not showing any sign that she'd heard his pleas. The beeping of the monitor was the only reply he got to his desperate wishes.

Staring at his mother's limp body, Troy suddenly felt an emotion that had buried itself deep inside his heart—that he had so carefully guarded from escaping for so many months. _Anger._

With a moan of impatience, he stood up abruptly, and hissed out the words that he wanted to scream. "When are you going to wake up, Mom? How long are you going to make me wait? How long do you need to rest, Mom? "

When he still received no reply, he stormed out of the room in frustration, slamming the door of his mother's room behind him. He slammed it hard, on his tormented past, the screaming memories, the empty silence, attempting to forget them, but the whole time he knew that they'd rise up and overcome him again.

…

"Hi, Ryan." Mrs. Graham gave Ryan a warm smile, and he couldn't help but give her a small one in return to his sign language teacher, even though his body ached everywhere from the bruises the jocks had inflicted, and the last thing in the world he felt like doing was smiling. He hated coming here, to the Albuquerque Hospital, but it happened to be where his other sign language teacher was at—for the children's disability ward.

"So, you ready to get started?" Mrs. Graham's voice was expectant for an answer, and Ryan nodded, his thoughts drifting off to questions of how he was going to be able to run at track practice the next day if his body felt this sore.

Ryan pulled out a chair and sat across from Mrs. Graham at a table, placing his notebook gently on the table and hanging his jacket on the back of his chair. "So, Ryan, can you show me what you learned last time?"

Ryan flashed out as many signals as he could remember with his deftly skilled fingers. He learned pretty quickly, but it was necessary. He didn't want to go around carrying his notebook for his whole life, even though it _did _help. It didn't look like Mr. Evans was ever going to get that talk pad though.

Mrs. Graham smiled softly at Ryan and looked off into the distance as if remembering. His innocent face tended to bring back memories for many—of younger children, of happier times. Ryan knew that she had once had a deaf son, but he'd passed away due to some complications. He'd never probed into the subject, and he knew watched thoughtfully as her face now hardened in pain and remembrance. Ryan stayed silent, though of course he had no other option.

"Ryan, what happened here, love?"

Ryan's head snapped up instinctively, looking for what Mrs. Graham was talking about. Her fingers were pointed at a large bruise that rested on his arm—a bruise he knew that had resulted from Chad's merciless punches. _Darn, I knew I shouldn't have taken off my jacket._

He pulled his notebook towards him and nervously flipped to a blank page, grabbing the pencil from the spiral binding. _Nothing._

Mrs. Graham's look was one of suspicious disbelief, and Ryan knew she wasn't buying it. He sighed, and then wished he hadn't because his ribs ached severely. Mrs. Graham's eyes widened in horror as she stared at his chest, making him feel rather self-conscious. He looked down to see what she was so carefully observing.

A dark spot of blood was soaking through the front of his light blue shirt, and Ryan cursed himself for not checking it before he came to meet with Mrs. Graham. He didn't want the help of everybody, the constant pity. He needed to learn how to take care of himself, and stop dragging the ones he loved into all his troubles.

"Ryan, you need to tell me what happened." Mrs. Graham's voice was stern now, as if ordering him to answer her.

Ryan cast his eyes downwards and knew he couldn't lie now. She wasn't going to buy any more excuses. Sketching the words across the page, he slid his notebook across the table to her. _I got beat up after school._

Mrs. Graham gasped audibly. "Why, Ryan?"

_It's because I'm_

He stopped, about to write the word "gay," but he didn't need Mrs. Graham knowing that too, and taking pity on the poor misunderstood boy. He was a homosexual, he'd admit that. He'd been one since he was a freshman, finding himself attracted to the young adolescents surrounding him. Only he'd never told anybody—that was, except for Sharpay. But the suspicions had mounted and he hadn't denied them. Ryan had never been one to lie.

_different, I guess._

"You mean because you can't talk?"

Ryan shook his head. _No, they don't know that._

"Then why do they hurt you?" Mrs. Graham's voice was so purely innocent. She was just another worried mom, not knowing why people hurt others.

Ryan paused, about to tell her everything, but then his shaking fingers were interrupted. There was a crash from outside and he turned instinctively to see what it was.

…

Troy stabbed the tile floor of the hospital room with every step he took, wanting to break the ground underneath him—almost wishing for it to take him down with it, so he wouldn't have to hurt anymore. Fury ate away at him, burning the fragile soul underneath, the pain only causing him to feel more anger.

He ferociously lashed out at anything that stood in his way—in his way of finding his mother again.

And that happened to be a hospital cart.

…

Ryan ran out into the hallway to see what was going on, followed by a frazzled Mrs. Graham. Ryan stopped, placing a hand on his aching side—God, it hurt so much! Then he stopped, staring at what was going on in front of him.

Troy Bolton was attacking a hospital cart, his face a mask of ferocity. Ryan had never seen Troy look so angry—even when he was sure another member of the rival basketball team had fouled him but it wasn't called and the other team ended up winning. Food on the top of the cart was flying everywhere, grapes hitting the floor and being smashed underneath Troy's sneakers. He punched wildly, hitting the metal cart with his fists—trying, it looked like, to get all his feelings out. Ryan had never known Troy to be so physical with his emotions, and was now surprised to watch the jock stand here in the hallway, kicking a cart of all things. And _why _was he in this hospital anyway?

He walked out towards the chestnut-haired teen, feeling his heart beat faster in his chest. Troy Bolton. He was so _beautiful_, like an angel that had lost his way on Earth Everything from those dark blue eyes to those wiry legs—the way his hair fell across his forehead, the way his clothes stuck nicely to his muscled body—oh God, what was he saying? Troy Bolton might have been beautiful, but he had his own life, his own girlfriend, his own… _friends_ that tormented scared teens like himself everyday.

_Then why do I think he's beautiful?_

…

Troy turned to face him, his blue eyes locking on Ryan's face. Ryan's face was so pale, white as usual against the dark green scarf he was still wearing. Troy felt himself flame—it wasn't everyday a classmate found him beating up a metal cart, so he began to bring his eyes down, until on their descent, he saw something that made his heart feel like stopping.

A dark red mark was soaking through the front of Ryan Evans's shirt—Troy guessed blood, it wasn't as if Ryan still did finger-painting after school. Bruises layered those thin arms, and suddenly Troy felt nauseous—he hadn't seen someone hurt so badly for a long time.

This shocking observation made him realize what he was doing, and he sheepishly picked up the fallen food tray, not taking his eyes off Ryan's crystal blue ones the entire time. Somehow he had never seen those eyes before in full light, and they scared him. They were mature beyond their years, suffering and pain screaming behind those eyes, surfacing memories fighting against their shackles to escape. Yet there was innocence in those eyes—so pure and so unblemished it almost scared him, though he had no idea what physical pain meant at the time.

"Hey," he managed to gasp, his voice barely squeezing its way out of his throat.

Ryan raised a hand in greeting, and Troy felt suddenly downcast, wishing to hear the other boy's voice.

"What… what happened?" he asked, pointing at the spot of blood.

Ryan turned, his slender body leaving Troy alone.

Maggie came up next to Troy and hugged him. "It's ok, Troy. It's ok."

Troy didn't fight her grasp, he followed her obediently back into his mother's room, his thoughts on those crystal eyes the whole time. Only when he was back in the silence with the beeping monitor did he realize he didn't know why Ryan was at the hospital in the first place.

…

"Chad, I don't know what's wrong with me. Everything hurts, I'm so scared… I just… I just wish it could all end right now. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

…

Ryan tapped Mrs. Graham lightly on the shoulder when they had returned to their studies.

"Yes Ryan?"

_Why is Troy Bolton here?_ He scrawled out a sentence in his notebook and handed it to her.

She studied the words vaguely, seemingly remembering something unseen again.

"Ryan, I don't know if I should tell you this, but it's not like you're going to tell anyone anyway," she said with an apologetic smile, pushing a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "Troy Bolton—well, his mother has had cancer for two months now, and Troy… well, he's been in every single day just sitting there, talking to her. He does everything here—his homework, he _sleeps _here sometimes… I guess… he just doesn't want to miss anything; he wants his mom to know he's always here for her. I guess Troy just can't let go because pain is so new to him… so different, and he doesn't understand it." She broke off, letting the words settle in. "But… I guess… just don't tell anybody, ok, Ryan? Not too many people know."

Ryan suddenly felt so cold.

…

Troy leaned next to a tree in front of the hospital. He really hadn't been able to take it—the silence, the monitor… he didn't know, it just felt like he was breaking today. He knew that he couldn't handle it forever, but…

He didn't want to be angry at his mother. She didn't deserve it, she couldn't help it, but the quiet was so infuriatingly _loud._

He glanced up as he heard a noise, the sound of leaves crackling under the steps of another person. It was Ryan Evans, with the scarf still around his neck.

Ryan came up close to him and handed him a napkin with half a blueberry muffin smashed between the folds. Troy was speechless as he took it, feeling the warmth of it through the flimsy paper.

Ryan gave him a rather sad look and reached down into another napkin, slowly putting a piece of the other half of the sweet-smelling muffin in his mouth. His tongue savored the light taste spreading throughout his mouth, the warmth heating his body.

"Thanks," Troy managed to say, before eating part of his own muffin, unable to take his eyes off the delicate way Ryan lifted the food, the way the slight marks of blueberry marked his pink lips. Feeling rather awkward, Troy put a piece of the muffin into his own mouth, letting his actions speak for him.

"So, why are you here anyway? I mean… is it because you got hurt?" Troy pointed indirectly at Ryan's chest, and suddenly felt self-conscious. The question escaped before he could stop it and wavered in the space between them.

Ryan didn't answer, but turned and left.

Troy stared at his retreating form, his heart sinking, completely mystified. Had he said something wrong?

**Author's Note**: Well, they've met. The next chapter is in for some Ryan beating, so review for more. (Oh, I _love _heartfelt reviews—I _love _getting _long _reviews, so if you don't mind…)

-Falling With Grace


	5. Four: Fallen Angel

**Author's Note**: I'm glad you all are liking this story. I _love _writing it, so I'm glad you like it too. Keep reviewing please. This chapter's a bit shorter than the others, but it has a whole lot more intensity, so I hope that makes up for it. Oh, I wrote another story by the way. _Forbidden Love._

**Warning**: THIS CHAPTER INVOLVES RAPE. DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T LIKE.

**four.**

_Fallen Angel._

"Hi, honey," said Mrs. Evans when Ryan entered. She looked vaguely uncomfortable, glancing at the spot of blood on his shirt but not saying anything. Ryan nodded indifferently, continuing on his way up the stairs. He hated to look at his mother. She was someone who had once been so enthusiastic and kind, yet she had been destroyed by Sharpay's death, and though she hid it, Ryan knew she blamed him too.

…

_Dear Sharpay,_

_There's something about Troy Bolton I can't stop thinking about._

_He's so beautiful._

_It scares me._

_Love you,_

_Ryan_

…

In the boys' locker room, Troy couldn't stop looking at Ryan Evans. He desperately wanted to tear his eyes away, but the way the blonde slowly pulled off his shirt, revealing the bruises underneath—Troy couldn't. The tassels of the dark green scarf spread over his chest, and Troy suddenly realized Ryan hadn't taken the scarf during track either. But the scarf mystery escaped from his mind when he saw the teen's chest.

He had never seen someone so badly hurt. Dry, crusted red scratches lay on the surface of Ryan's pale chest, and he stared at the boy, realizing the extent of his skinniness. Ryan Evans was so thin, he looked unhealthy. _God, I wonder what's going on. Maybe he hasn't been eating. Maybe he's anorexic or something._

They had just finished track practice, and it looked like Ryan was heading off. He'd run pretty fast—Troy had never realized the teen was so quick.

"Hey," he risked. "Are you ok? How did _that _happen?" Then he flinched, remembering the day before.

Ryan didn't answer him, but finished pulling off his sweat-soaked shirt. He pulled a dry, light brown shirt out of his locker and slipped it on with a grace that Troy couldn't help but admire. _What's wrong with me?_

"Hey, you can tell me what happened," Troy said, agitated. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Ryan didn't answer him, but picked up his track clothes and pushed gently past Troy, getting ready to leave the locker room. Troy felt increasingly annoyed, not liking the fact that he was being ignored.

"I'm just worried about you," he tried, blocking Ryan's entrance to the door. "You can just tell me if you're going to be ok."

Ryan stared at him with cold blue eyes. _It's none of your business,_ was the clear message.

"Hey," Troy burst out, truly angry now. "Why don't you just talk to me?" He grabbed Ryan's arm and pulled Ryan to face him more roughly than he intended. That was when he leaned back on the locker room door and pressed against the handle. Both boys felt outside, Ryan stumbling and catching himself to steady his feet on the ground, Troy falling hard and hitting his head against the cold, grey pavement.

…

_Oh God, no._

Ryan brought himself down to the level of Troy's motionless body, all of his track supplies spilling from his hands. _Oh God, did I kill him?_ He gently brought a hand and shook Troy's body, but there was no response. _Oh God, no. Don't be dead—please don't be dead._

He shook Troy's leg with his arm, harder this time, but the teen didn't respond, his body lying limp on the floor. _Oh God, I killed him._

He brought his face close up to Troy's, waiting to see if there was any motion, but Troy's eyes remained closed. He couldn't help but notice Troy's fine, dark eyelashes and full lips up close. _Oh God, if he dies, that's not going to help you at all._

Troy didn't seem to be moving, and Ryan's heart hammered faster in his chest. The cold air around him didn't help either, and he ran his hand carefully over Troy's face, waiting for any sign of life. It didn't come.

_Now what? CPR?_ Ryan brought his face in closer, wondering if he should give Troy mouth-to-mouth. His lips leaned in, his tongue darting nervously over them.

"Hey! Fag, what are you doing?" Words ripped through the air from a voice that Ryan had come to dread in fear. Chad.

In one swift motion, Chad ripped Ryan off Troy and punched him hard in the face, causing blood to spill from Ryan's nose. "What do you think you're doing with my best friend?"

Throwing Ryan hard against the pavement, he looked at Troy's unmoving body, and shook him gently. "Hey, buddy, you ok?"

Troy didn't respond, his head rolling uselessly from side to side as Ryan watched helplessly from the sidelines. Jason and Zeke had arrived now, and he didn't think he could escape this time. He ran pretty quickly, but not quickly enough to escape from three furious teenagers.

"You sick slut," growled Chad, glancing at Ryan, his brown eyes gleaming with hate. "Were you trying to kiss Troy—take advantage of him? Are you disappointed you didn't get to stick your tongue in his mouth? Is that it, you filthy whore?" He nodded at Jason, "Jason, go get Coach Bolton for help. Zeke, you come with me. We're going to teach this faggot a lesson so he never comes near Troy again."

…

Ryan was shoved mercilessly against the ground, Zeke stepping on his head and grinding it into the pavement. A noiseless cry of pain escaped from his lips as Chad pulled him up by his arm, slapping him hard across the face.

"You little whore," whispered Chad in a leering voice, pulling Ryan's face towards his own with his hand. "What were you trying to do with Troy? Are you disappointed you didn't get to suck him, is that it?"

Tears burned Ryan's eyes, but he kept his head down, trying not to let them fall. He didn't want to give Chad the satisfaction of knowing that he was hurting him. _Please God, save me. I'm scared._

"I'm going to teach you a lesson you're never going to forget," hissed Chad, throwing Ryan up against a wall. Ryan's back hit the wall hard, and his face twisted in pain.

Zeke pulled Ryan's shivering body close to him. "You sick slut," he grunted, pulling Ryan's slender flame up against his body. His fingers grasped against Ryan's crotch, darting up to the button of Ryan's pants. He quickly unbuttoned them, pulling Ryan's pant down to reveal his long, thin legs. His fingers groped at Ryan's groin, feeling his privates as Ryan struggled in Zeke's grasps, wishing he could scream for help more than anything.

Zeke threw Ryan at Chad, who grasped him and tore his shirt down the middle, revealing Ryan's bruised chest. Chad straddled Ryan's waist as his fingers reached down to unbutton his own pants. He slipped Ryan's boxers down, revealing Ryan's naked skin against the cold air.

"You're going to regret this day the rest of your life," he whispered into Ryan's ear. Ryan shuddered and violently tried to jerk away, but Zeke punched him hard in the stomach, and he could only double over and twist in pain.

Slipping down his own boxers, Chad thrust hard into Ryan, ripping Ryan's flawless and vulnerable flesh. Ryan closed his eyes, tears seeping down his silently beautiful and pale face as he could only pray for it to end. Chad grunted in pleasure, grasping Ryan's crotch with his hand as he began to thrust rhythmically, enjoying Ryan's agony. "You know you like it, fag, don't deny it."

Ryan opened his mouth in a soundless cry of pain, his clear blue eyes showing the lost and violated soul underneath. More tears began to course down his face, mixing in with the blood from the punch that Zeke had given him before. Chad continued to thrust into him for what seemed like forever, and he could only stand there uselessly and allow it, horrified as his body reacted to Chad's sick game.

The pain was something that Ryan had never faced before. His skin broke as Chad violated it, bruised under the careless pressure that Chad exerted. It hurt more than anything he had ever gone through—with each rhythmic thrust, Ryan wished that he was dead.

But it was the emotion that destroyed him more. The fact that he was no longer a virgin, which he had been all his life. This teen had stolen his virginity, raped his dignity, leaving him in a desecrated mass of drowning. Ryan closed his eyes and cried more, feeling filthy and dirty. _What do you think of me now, Sharpay?_

Chad slapped him hard across the face. "Don't cry—you know you like it."

Ryan shivered violently in pain and disgust, pulling away from him. Chad threw his body carelessly at Zeke. Ryan tripped on his boxers and pants, which were still wrapped around his ankles, and Zeke caught him, already prepared, entering Ryan's abused entrance once more.

What seemed like an eternity later, Zeke finally pulled his bloody member out of Ryan's broken body, punching him hard in the stomach. Ryan doubled over and threw up blood, his whole frame shuddering convulsively. Chad had pulled on his pants by now, hiding the disgusting sin, and placed his hands hard around Ryan's neck, closing his fingers around the blonde's.

Ryan struggled in his grasp, remembering Dr. Fletcher's words. _Avoid fights, and if you do get into some, make sure they don't hurt your neck. If they do, glass might impale some other part of your neck, and then… well, let's say things are not going to be pretty, in other words, you may die._ Those words seemed so long ago, so long ago he had been a virgin, so long ago he had been pure…

He kicked uselessly at Chad who smiled maliciously and kept tightening his hold. Ryan could only close his eyes again as everything went black…

…

Zeke punched Chad roughly in the arm. "Chad, stop it, man." His voice was lined with worry, and Chad loosened his grasp on Ryan Evans's neck.

"What, Zeke?"

"Chad—Chad, he's not breathing." Zeke's voice was full of panic and his eyes opened wide in worry.

"Oh God," muttered Chad, dropping Ryan's limp body to the floor. "Come on, let's get out of here."

…

"Dad, it's ok. I'm _fine!_" Troy pushed his father away and left the hospital wing, running aimlessly as far as he could from his father's grasp. He had hated his father ever since his mother had been diagnosed—his father had no dedication and care whatsoever.

He shook his head, trying to remember what had happened only a couple hours before. Ryan Evans—he'd fallen on the ground—he'd been knocked out…

Where was Ryan?

Crossing aimlessly across the track field, he spotted a limp figure lying against the gym. _Oh God._

His heart beginning to race up, he ran as fast as he could across the length of the field towards the building. His feet slipped out from under him as he ran—he'd never been in such a hurry in his entire life. Coming up to the figure, he rested for a bit, panting as he placed his hands on his knees. Troy had never been so amazing at running.

Closer, he saw that the figure was a blonde, and as he approached, he could smell the coppery scent of blood. His stomach turned over as another smell drifted forward. He'd never experienced it before, but he could recognize it. _Sex._

His heart pounding against his chest, his eyes adjusted to see a motionless figure, blood seeping out from underneath him. His naked body was twisted carelessly, reminding Troy of a disposed toy, his legs tangled with discarded pants and a pair of bloody boxers. Troy could now see that the figure was no other than Ryan Evans, and his breaths quickened as he willed himself not to vomit. More blood and bruises covered the blonde now, including liquids and blood spilling out from between his legs. His limp body made Troy think of what a broken angel would look like.

_Oh God. Calm down Troy._

Stepping tentatively towards the boy, Troy managed to flip the blonde into a position where he was straight on his back. Ryan's eyes were closed and it didn't look as though he was breathing. Troy sucked in a deep breath and reached for Ryan's boxers. Whatever happened, Ryan still needed his dignity first—or at least what he had left of his dignity, though that had obviously been stolen from him in the matter of minutes.

Troy pulled up Ryan's boxers cautiously around the teen's waist, his trembling hands now covered in Ryan's blood. He made sure not to touch any of Ryan's private body parts, just slipping them on as quickly as he could. Next he pulled up the pants, which were more difficult to put on. He pulled the pant legs over Ryan's skinny ones, trying not to glance at Ryan's body—feeling that he owned Ryan that much respect. Not to mention Sharpay of course.

Flipping Ryan's thin body up towards him, Ryan's scarf folded over, revealing the skin underneath. Troy gasped and nearly dropped the blonde, but managed to catch himself. Scars lined the teen's throat—it seemed like millions of scars.

_Oh my God, is that what they did to him?_

Upon closer examination, however, Troy realized that these scars were older. Not so old, but they had been there for awhile—not in the last couple of days.

Sighing in profound relief, he wrapped the scarf around Ryan's neck again and tried to push Ryan's torn shirt as together as he could. He shook the blonde a little, but Ryan just leaned over, a pool of blood escaping from his lips, probably due to the injury to his throat. Suddenly his body convulsed violently, blood heaving from his lips and staining Troy's clothing.

"Oh God, Evans, don't die on me," Troy whispered frantically, pulling Ryan close to his chest, now ignoring the fact that he was wallowing in blood. He stood up, surprised at how easily he could carry Ryan Evans—the kid was at most one hundred pounds—and Troy started off to the hospital, Ryan's body cradled protectively against his chest.

**Author's Note**: Oh no, what happens? I'm sorry it was a bit short, but I hope you like it anyway. Review please. I told you it would be graphic. You were warned.

I'm going to keep updating this one because I currently have an evil disease known as writer's block for _Tainted Promise._ Oh well, I actually like this plotline better than the other.

-Falling With Grace


	6. Five: Already Broken

**Author's Note**: I happened not to like this chapter very much, but I hope you guys like it anyways. It's rather unrealistic but I'm so stoked to get this story moving. I've tried to keep it at that steady pace I want and not destroy the beauty by rushing it. Anyway, hope you like, read and review. I still don't own _High School Musical._

**five.**

_Already Broken._

Troy burst through the hospital doors, wheezing slightly as he struggled to keep Ryan's thin body in his arms. Ryan wasn't that heavy, but after he'd been carrying the teen for a few blocks, even his light weight began to seem heavy.

"Come on, Ryan," whispered Troy, leaning slowly onto the ground and setting the boy there as nurses gathered nervously around, already exclaiming for help. "Don't die on me."

Ryan coughed roughly, blood escaping from his mouth and spattering onto Troy's clothes. Troy muttered in frustration, wiping his blood-freckled hand onto his jeans. "You better not die, Ryan, because you're going to have to pay back these ten million favors you owe me."

Troy sat numbly on the ground, holding the blonde's limp body in his arms. Nurses fluttered around anxiously and when Ryan was finally taken from him, Troy stumbled and collapsed.

…

"Oh, is he ok?"

"Troy Bolton and Ryan Evans? The strangest combination, don't you think?"

"The Evans kid got raped. Beat up too. It's not pretty."

"Troy brought him over here?"

"Yeah, that's what it looks like. Strangest thing if you ask me."

…

"Hey, Mom," Troy felt like he was about to explode with excitement. Sad excitement, but excitement nonetheless. "I have _so _much to tell you," he said sounding rather like an excited little girl, sitting down in a chair next to his mother and clasping one of her hands. "You know Ryan Evans? Well…"

…

"Mrs. Graham?" The nurse turned from the doorway of Mrs. Bolton's room at the sound of Troy's voice. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Troy," Mrs. Graham answered, re-entering the room. She was familiar with Troy—he'd been there long enough that most of the hospital staff knew who he was. He'd been there almost as long as Ryan, in fact. "What do you need?"

"Here, sit down," gestured Troy to a chair. Mrs. Graham sat down. "Mrs. Graham, I wanted to ask you—what exactly… why… why does Ryan Evans have all those scars on his neck and um… why is it so bad that he got hit there?"

"Oh," Mrs. Graham stopped, looking cautiously at Troy. "You're the one that brought him in here, weren't you, Troy?"

"Yeah," Troy nodded.

"Ok," Mrs. Graham said quietly. "I guess I can tell you… but please don't tell anybody. You knew Sharpay, didn't you? She went to East High with you, right?"

Troy nodded.

"Well, in that accident… Sharpay was driving and they were run into. Sharpay died immediately—there was probably some pain, but on the most part, she died quickly and didn't suffer for long. If only I could say the same for Ryan…"

Troy waited.

"Well, the windshield shattered—the glass exploding everywhere. Most of the glass wound up in Ryan's neck."

Troy grasped the seat of his chair hard with his hands, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. Mrs. Graham threw him a sympathetic look as she put a hand comfortingly on one of his shoulders before continuing.

"You know the larynx—that's the voice box in your throat? Well, Ryan's was full of glass. We tried to save it, Troy—we did, but we couldn't do much. We had to remove it… so Ryan can't talk."

Troy reached up and felt his throat, feeling as though his voice had disappeared as well. Thoughts ran through his head… no wonder Ryan was so silent, he couldn't talk all along. Why he hadn't realized that earlier he didn't know, but he thought of himself as stupid now.

"There's still glass in his throat—he comes in for check-ups ever month to see if the glass has shifted at all so we can remove them. That's what the scars are from. He's been coming in with me after school everyday so we can practice sign language—it's what he's going to be using for the rest of his life. The notebook—he writes what he needs to say in it. Poor child, actually. His parents never spend time with him—they blame him for Sharpay's death—and he's hurting right now, Troy. He's hurt so much because he _needs_ that love and support and he hasn't been able to get it from anyone besides these nurses here…" Mrs. Graham broke off, her face flushing, realizing she had started to go too far.

_Oh God,_ thought Troy. _No wonder… my God, life must be terrible for him. He lost his sister and now he can't talk…his parents don't talk to him. At least I still have dad._

He wondered why life was so cruel—why someone like Ryan would deserve to suffer this much.

Mrs. Graham made a small noise in her throat and turned to leave.

"Mrs. Graham?"

She glanced over her shoulder.

"You know how you have to teach Ryan sign language? Well… I was wondering… do you… you think you could teach me too?"

…

"I want to see my son now!" Mrs. Evans's voice was borderline hysterical.

"He's in critical condition right now," sighed a weary Dr. Fletcher. "You'll have to wait for awhile. But right now I need to talk to you. Come with me, please."

Mrs. Evans followed, huddling close to her husband as they entered a small room. Dr. Fletcher motioned to two chairs and the Evans parents sat down. Dr. Fletcher sat down in a small, plastic chair and settled his head tiredly in his hands.

"Ryan has been abused—greatly. There are bruises, scars… blood marks even. We…" he paused briefly. "We don't know where they've come from."

Mr. Evans face paled as he realized the words. "You think we're hurting our son? How dare you accuse us of something like that?"

"I didn't say anything," Dr. Fletcher protested. "It's just we don't know where…"

He was interrupted by another voice. All three adults glanced up to see a tall, teenaged boy in the doorway. His hands were gripped tightly against the wooden doorway. "They haven't been hurting him—at least not _physically._ I think some boys after school have been beating him up."

Mr. Evans stared hard at the boy. "You're Troy Bolton, right? You go to East High with Ryan and Sh…" he fell silent

"Yes," Troy nodded easily. "You're Ryan's parents. I just want to tell you… you haven't been doing a good job being parents."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Mrs. Evans. "Of course we're good parents. We send him to school, we feed him, we clothe him…"

"You're not," said Troy simply. "There's other ways of hurting a kid then abusing him physically. You guys haven't been loving him, you haven't been that constant source of help. He needs your help—he really does. I can see it in his eyes. If you guys had been proper parents, he wouldn't have been left after school like that. He'd have real help by now. He wouldn't have to walk here by himself." The unfairness of what Ryan had suffered was bubbling deep up in Troy now and he wanted to get it all out, blame the parents, tell them all the truth they deserved to know. He wanted to let them know what Mrs. Graham had told them, make them feel guilty. "You don't love him. He's starved of affection, I've seen it, I know it. And I know that if you had been there to pick him up the other day, he wouldn't have been beat up and he wouldn't be in the hospital and he would still be…" his voice cracked softly, "he'd still be a virgin. He was raped yesterday, I doubt you know that judging by your lack of parenting skills so far."

He stopped and turned abruptly to leave.

Dr. Fletcher looked seriously at the gaping parents. "He's completely right, you know."

…

"Mom, how can you have a kid and not love him? I don't know how Ryan manages to make it everyday, Mom. How can he look at himself and say, 'I want to live today.' I don't know how he's so strong… how he manages to keep on going on and not fall to pieces like I would have already."

…

"Gabriella," Troy paused and stroked his girlfriend's chin softly. He was trying to make this hurt as little as possible and it was hard, judging by the look of fear gleaming in the girl's eyes. "I don't think this can work out anymore. I don't know if I can date you anymore or be in a relationship right now."

"You're breaking up with me?" her lip quivered and he could see the tears welling up in her eyes. A pang of pain hit his heart and he felt like holding her close. She was one of the only things he had left, but he really couldn't handle anything right now.

"Gabi, it's not that I don't like you. I love you, I still do. It's just… everything's so messed up nowadays and I don't think I'm giving you the attention and care you need. I mean, I have to stay with my mom, and the hospital wants me to help out with Ryan, and… Gabi, I'm really sorry."

Gabriella's eyes were understanding and Troy felt strangely grateful. He kissed her softly and then turned to leave, not looking back once behind him because he felt if he did, his heart would break and he'd have to take her back in. On the more important note, he had a sign language lesson to go to.

…

"Here, Troy, don't flap your arms so much," Mrs. Graham interrupted the brunette. "You're not going to take off or something, are you? Here," she said, forming his hand into the correct shape. "This is 'A.' 'B.' 'C.'"

Troy began forming out the letters—it was becoming increasingly easy. Mrs. Graham glowed. He learned almost as fast as Ryan did.

…

"You're awake now," whispered Troy quietly, smiling down at Ryan's pale face. His heart hurt inside as he glanced at Ryan's eyes, which still looked dead and unfeeling. His face was pale and there was a heavy bandage around his neck, but he looked better than he had before. "I was hoping you wouldn't die on me."

Ryan smiled softly, pulling the blue spiral notebook closer to him. He scratched out something and tossed it to Troy. _So I can pay back those ten million favors I owe you?_

Troy flushed. "You heard that?"

_Yeah. It's ok though._

"Ryan," Troy paused, running his tongue over his lips. "Ryan, you need to tell us who hurt you."

Ryan's face went rigid: his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes glanced down—now guarded, and the shake of his head was definite. He was scared and Troy grimaced as he thought how much the teen had gone through.

"Please, Ryan. We need to fix this," Troy said in a soft voice.

Ryan glanced at him before scrawling in his notebook. _I can't be fixed. I'm already broken._

Troy stared into those blue eyes and realized his heart was beating hard. He slipped a hand over Ryan's pale one. "You're not broken. You've completed me."

Right then, he meant it as only a sign of friendship. But it would grow into something more than both boys had ever expected.

Ryan didn't pull away.

…

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Graham said in a soft voice as she sat next to Ryan's bed. Ryan was propped up against the pillows, somehow reminding Troy of a hurt angel. His pale blue eyes and blonde hair made him look so fragile, and somehow so infuriatingly…_beautiful._ "I managed to catch Troy up—he's still a bit behind but he's learned some things."

Ryan pulled his notebook towards him, his eyes surprised. _Why do you want to learn sign language?_

Troy smiled back at him. "You need to have _somebody_ to talk to."

Ryan thought this over. Troy was learning sign language for _him?_ Why? What… why was this? Well, he thought, it _would_ be nice to have somebody to actually talk to. It didn't look like his parents were going to learn, he thought bitterly.

But he had Troy for now.

…

"Ryan, I know things are rough with you with your family situation at home. So I asked my dad and… maybe you want to come and live with us for awhile?"

Ryan stiffened. Was _Troy Bolton_ asking him to stay with him in _his _house? When had this happened? Unable to believe his own luck, he looked vaguely suspicious before glancing into Troy's eyes. Those dark blue orbs—there was nothing cruel in those eyes.

Ryan nodded.

**Author's Note**: Yeah, see, told you it wasn't very realistic. But for once, who cares? Ryan moves in with Troy next chapter and well… things are about to get very hot indeed. Review for more.

-Falling With Grace


	7. Six: Confrontation

**Author's Note**: I got some AMAZING reviews, thank you all so much. I worked pretty hard on this chapter; I hope you all like it. So I still don't own _High School Musical_, but I hope you like, and review please.

**six.**

_Confrontation._

_Wow, nice place you've got_, Ryan wrote in the blue-covered notebook as he looked around Troy's spacious house.

Troy flushed in appreciation. "Not really."

_Are you kidding me?_ Ryan smiled softly, pulling up the scarf around his neck. _So where am I going to stay?_

"Your parents are ok with this, aren't they?" Troy asked once more, flicking his head to move a strand of his chocolate hair from his eyes.

Ryan looked sadly at Troy and his fingers trembled as he formed out words. _They don't care where I go. I don't think they'd notice if I didn't show up one day. It doesn't really matter, Troy, I'm sure. But if you don't want to do this, you really don't have to…_ There was question in his words. A question that Troy had to answer.

"I want to," butted in Troy stubbornly. Ryan gave Troy a small smile.

_Thank you._

Troy used his fingers to quickly flash out a message to Ryan. _You're welcome._

…

"You can stay here," Troy pointed out a bed in a room larger than it needed to be. "I mean, I just moved another bed into here—it used to be the guest bed but it doesn't look like we're going to have guests over because of M-" his voice broke in pain and he looked silently at the floor.

_God, you have another kid over, don't break down,_ he willed himself. _Don't break down now, don't break down…_

He felt tears at the edges of his eyes. So much for not breaking down.

He ran the back of his hand over his eyes, hoping that Ryan wouldn't say anything and embarrass him any further or ask him what had happened to his mom.

That seemed to be what Ryan was thinking as a silence set over the room. An incredible silence, like the one in the hospital. Troy closed his eyes and tried not to think of anything, his mother, the silence…

The beeping of the monitor filled his head and he suddenly felt claustrophobic. He struggled to breathe, his throat heaving with effort, his body trembling violently. He grabbed the banister and tried to keep his body steady, feeling himself shake with the effort.

He felt a soft touch against his arm, a delicate one, and subconsciously he realized it must be Ryan. But he wasn't there in that moment, he wasn't _there_ in the room with Ryan in his house, he wasn't there. He was in the hospital, staring at his mother, his hands drifting vaguely over hers, so cold and so needing of touch. He was there, listening to the beep of the monitor, trying to keep his sobs to himself. He was there, choking out whispers of how much he wished she'd come back. He was in the place he last wanted to be but somehow he couldn't draw himself out of the moment, out of that unbearable silence.

And at that time he broke again, using all his force and will to pull himself away from that scene, away from his mother's limp body, away from the musty feel of the room closing around him, killing him softly.

And he realized Ryan's hand was still on his shoulder.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" Troy screamed, jerking violently away from the other boy. Ryan fell back, shocked, his eyes full of fear.

Troy had no idea what he was doing, where he was going, but he wanted to shake off that feeling. That feeling that didn't make any sense, that feeling of humidity yet pure iciness, that feeling that dragged him down as he waited for his mother to get better though inside he knew the truth…

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT MY PROBLEM IS!" Troy felt his throat becoming raw in his efforts to drown the beeping of the monitor, to rid the noise of haunting him, torturing him, dragging him down. His voice arched onto a higher note of pain. What happened to his life? What happened to the one that he'd known? What happened to that perfection? What had happened to who he had been? "I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME AND I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY, OK?"

His knees crumpled from under him and soon he was on the ground, his legs pulled against his chest as he rocked himself, whimpering softly, tears freely coursing down his cheeks. "I'm so scared…"

He felt the light touch again, and looked up wearily, his vision blurred. Ryan's face appeared close to his, and the other boy held him close, running his hands over Troy's back in an attempt to calm him, to free him of this hidden monster. _It's ok. Don't be scared. I'm here._

Those blue eyes seemed to know so much suffering, so much, and Troy focused on those as he cried openly into Ryan's shoulder. Ryan didn't make any gesture of pulling away, he just continued rubbing Troy's back and ignoring the awkwardness of the situation. He ran his hands through Troy's lengthy brown hair, rubbed his tears from his eyes, and all the while Troy continued sobbing, his tears dampening Ryan's clothes, his voice a broken cry to escape reality. He wanted to escape all the pain and go back to that time where he had had everything, where everything had been perfect, where he hadn't known the definition of fear, of waiting, of _wanting._

And all the while, Ryan didn't move. He stayed consistent, helping Troy, and Troy couldn't imagine what strength the blonde had possessed in him to keep going. He faced so much more than Troy did everyday, yet he could still reach out and help…

With a final sniff, Troy finally placed his hands behind him, looking straight at the other boy. He positioned himself on the ground, and Ryan's worried eyes looked straight at his. There was stillness, and more silence, but this time it was peaceful and Troy wanted to stay in that moment forever.

Without truly knowing what he was doing, he placed his hands around the back of Ryan's head, loving the soft feel of the blonde's hair between his fingers. Getting up on his knees, he brought his face closer to Ryan's, not truly feeling anything but Ryan's smooth skin. Ignoring the racing of his heart, he brought his lips to Ryan's and kissed him.

…

Ryan froze, not believing these feelings run over him. What was going on? My God, he'd wanted to do this forever but something felt so wrong and he couldn't find what it was. He deepened the kiss into Troy's full lips, lost and belonging in that moment, the passion running through his body. And right then, he felt more complete than he had ever felt in his entire life.

…

_What are you doing? This is a _guy, Troy was thinking in his mind. He couldn't believe he was doing this, what was he doing? But somehow it felt so right, so passionate, so beautiful, so amazingly perfect with Ryan's hair tangled in his fingers, his lips pressed against Ryan's soft ones. He wanted to stay in this safe haven forever, this quintessence of complete elegance, and for once, he felt confident, somehow believing that life wasn't that hard after all.

…

It was Ryan who pulled away. In one flash he jerked away from the jock, breathing heavily and feeling the panic that caused his head to pound.

There was too much feeling, too much passion, and he felt as though he was drowning in the heat, the emotion being too much for him. He suddenly felt so claustrophobic, afraid of being, afraid of living here in this moment, in this cell that refused to release him. He knew he'd always wanted it; he'd loved Troy for three years straight now, but now that he was suddenly faced with this, confronted with the possibility that Troy might like him back, he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

He felt fear rise in his throat; this couldn't be true. Why would Troy love him? Troy had Gabriella, Troy had a life, Troy had friends, _why would Troy love him?_ He was nobody, a shadow of a nobody. He'd been worthless all his life, and more so, now that Sharpay was gone. Troy was _playing_ with him, wasn't he? It must be fun to play with somebody, a mute teenager who couldn't say anything back, who couldn't protest. Like a toy. A cheap doll. A teen who could only allow silent tears to fall as a larger boy thrust into him and make him feel dirty, just like Chad and Zeke had done.

Troy just wanted him. All those statements, all those promises, they were all just lies, all lies surmounting to _this._ What would he want next? Would he want more? One kiss could turn into worse things than Ryan could imagine.

All the sudden he was scared, his heart was pounding in his chest as he breathed hard, trying to control his body's shivers. _Why did you do that? Are you trying to use me, just like everybody else?_ He had never felt the need to speak more than in this moment; he wanted to yell, he wanted to scream, to tell Troy that he was not a toy, not something to be played with and used. But he couldn't.

"I…" Troy attempted to talk and stared hard at Ryan.

Ryan shot a look into Troy's dark blue eyes, turned, and fled.

Troy didn't even try to stop him.

…

Ryan didn't know where he was running. He was stumbling, blindly. He vaguely remembered shoving open Troy's front door and now he was aimlessly running with no particular destination in mind. He just needed to get away, get away from that tainted memory of a kiss, Troy's breakdown, and most of all, just Troy himself.

He stopped and looked at his surroundings. Realizing this was near the hospital, he decided to head over there. He needed somewhere to hide, and it killed him, because even now, even when nothing was haunting him, he was still so weak.

…

_What just happened?_ Troy ran his tongue over his lips, disbelieving. _I just kissed Ryan Evans, I just kissed a boy. And I _liked_ it._

What had he done? Attacked someone already so vulnerable, so hurt. _Ryan just got raped and he still hasn't gotten over it and look what you've done._ "What did I do?"

He stated it out loud. "What did I do? Of course I shouldn't have hurt him like that, I should have known better… I should have known better."

_But why did he kiss back?_

…

Ryan entered the hospital, his body shaking with sobs. Hannah looked up in horror when she heard him come in and ran to his side, catching him before he fell. "Oh God. Dear, what happened?"

Ryan trembled in her arms, wishing this was his home, wishing there was someone he could come home to and love. Wishing Sharpay was there to hold him and comfort him and tell him everything was going to be alright.

But Hannah wasn't his mother, and he knew that. Hannah wasn't his confidant, but right now he was desperate enough to "talk" to anyone.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Hannah handed him a paper and pen, and Ryan realized he'd left his notebook at Troy's house.

"What happened with Troy, dear? Weren't you over there?"

Ryan's fingers gripped the pen tightly, about to reveal everything but somehow he was restrained, almost subconsciously, not quite wanting to tell her about the kiss. _We got into a fight._

"How did that happen?"

Ryan became increasingly guarded, _I don't want to talk about it._

Hannah was silent for a moment. "Oh…"

_You think I could stay here for awhile though? I don't want to go home to my parents._ Ryan scribbled out the words in desperation.

"That will be fine, dear. Here, let me show you a room."

…

"It breaks my heart to watch this, Hannah."

"I know, Mrs. Graham."

"I told you, Hannah, call me Melissa."

"Yes ma'am."

"Poor, beautiful kid. His parents are worthless, not knowing who they have."

"Hmm…"

"So he walked out on Troy?"

"Seems to be the case."

"I think there's something more to the story, Hannah."

"Me too, Mrs. Graham. Me too."

…

Troy saw the dark blue notebook laying scattered on the ground. Reaching over, he picked it up lightly between his skilled fingers. Feeling as though he was invading the other boy's privacy, he set it down on the floor, its cover closed on top, hiding all the secrets.

He almost left the room right then, heading out the door to find Ryan.

Almost.

Instead he took the notebook, and after thinking, his curiosity got the better of him and he opened it. He had seen Ryan writing in it so diligently, so repetitively, and he had to know what the other boy was writing.

What he found, to say the very least, surprised him.

_Dear Sharpay_. When Troy first read these, a sudden splinter of feeling began to infect him and he shook, tears forming in his eyes. So he'd thought Ryan had let go of his sister, but he was wrong, as he usually was. Ryan was unable to let go so easily, he clung on, clung on to the past because it seemed to be all that he had left.

As he read through Ryan's hidden thoughts, he began to realize and actually know the introverted intellectual in front of him. The beautiful mirror of the person who Ryan had once been and how that mirror had been cracked when the more flawless and confident side had broken. The boy who was so strong was actually so weak, so afraid to be beautiful, so afraid to walk without the constant reminder that he was there.

Troy saw Ryan as someone who was confident, walking, dignified, but now he saw that Ryan had his own emotions. He hurt as much as anybody else, and Troy began to see this as his vision blurred and his tears matted his eyelashes together. A tear fell, splotching the paper in front of him, mixing the words together.

And how Ryan now saw himself as a damaged piece of dignity, a shadow, a mere reflection. How he didn't realize his own beauty, how he saw himself as ugly, fat even, Troy realized as he read about how the other boy hadn't been eating.

And then, as he continued flipping through the cheap paper in its spiral binding, that's when he found it.

_I love Troy Bolton._

His lips formed the words over and over again, silently. _I love Troy Bolton._

And he finally believed what his heart had been telling him all along. He loved the other boy too, but he'd already blown his chances and now the regret was burning a hole in him. A hole that would take more than love to fix.

**Author's Note**: Not something to cliché I hope? Like it? Review and tell me, please. I love to hear from you, and remember, long reviews.

-Falling With Grace


	8. Seven: Promise

**Author's Note**: Wow, I haven't updated in forever. If you want to know the truth, I really just lost inspiration. This chapter is pretty bad; I just wrote it for an hour right now at 1:30 in the morning. I hope you enjoy though; review and I'll update. I promise.

**seven.**

_Promise._

Troy grabbed his coat and was out the door. He was driving, already plugging his keys into the ignition even before he slammed the car door shut. Driving fast, not caring if he broke any speed limits. He had to get there. He didn't give a damn about what the policemen would say if they pulled him over; he didn't give a damn about anything but the hospital five blocks away from his house.

His heart beated steadily in his chest, only one thought ringing through his head. _I love you Ryan Evans._

ooo

"Wait, you let him in?"

"Well wasn't I supposed to?"

"No Hannah--something obviously happened between the two and Ryan doesn't want to see him."

"But Mrs. Graham-"

"Melissa."

"Yes, but-"

"-but what?"

"I'm trying to explain. You should have seen him, soaking wet--he ran right through the sprinklers you see; that mass of brown hair clumped to his forehead and his blue eyes. You would be heartless to let him down, ma'am, I mean this most respectfully. And if something happened, don't you think they should fix it?"

"I suppose you're right Hannah, I suppose you're right."

ooo

Ryan shuddered, feeling his tear-soaked pillow against his skin. He turned it over and let out a wavery silent sigh, trying to go to sleep. He sniffled, trying to will himself not to cry. _What's he to you, Ryan?_

_Who are you kidding, Ryan? You know you love him_.

_I don't love him._

_Yes you do._

He sighed abruptly and pulled the thin hospital blanket closer to his aching body. He whimpered soundlessly weakly and pushed back his blonde hair.

"Dear Sharpay," he mouthed wordlessly. "Sharpay, I don't know what to do. I'm so lost."

He imagined Sharpay's answer. "Pull yourself together Ryan. Grow up, come on boy, stop being such a pushover."

He smiled despite the pain of remembering. He imagined her brown eyes and blonde hair; her obnoxious personality. He closed his eyes and willed himself for a long night.

After all, he was an insomniac.

ooo

Troy ran to Room 277. He stood at the door and knocked hard. When nobody answered he continued knocking, harder, harder. It was only when he felt the pain in his right hand did he realize that his fist was bleeding.

ooo

Ryan jumped up from his sleepless rest, hearing an incredibly loud knocking noise at his door. He thought it was Hannah; after all, everybody else was sleeping. Who would be causing a racket at this hour?

ooo

Ryan's arms fell limply to his sides after he opened the door and stared at the haggard, wet figure in front of him. Troy stood there, water trickling from his hair, his eyelashes matted together.

"Ryan."

Why was it that even just this one simple word--his name, even--caused a waterfall of emotions to rain down on him? He felt the cascade of feeling run over him and turned away. He didn't want to be hurt again. He walked steadily away from the dripping boy at the door and sat on his bed and tried to pretend that Troy had never meant anything to him.

"Ryan I don't know how to say this. You kissed me." There was a shudder in Troy's voice that arched onto a higher note; Ryan heard Troy's approaching footsteps.

Ryan needed to scream. He needed to vent all of his emotions; he wanted to yell and tell Troy never to touch him again, not to make fun of him, just to leave him alone as the worthless faggot that he knew he was.

"I liked it, Ryan."

All of Ryan's mindless ramblings came to a halt. _What?_

"I liked it, Ryan. I like you, in general. I like how you make me feel."

Ryan felt steadily abused again. So Troy liked how he felt? What did Troy want? Sex? Because that's not what Ryan was offering him.

Troy touched Ryan's shoulder. Ryan jerked away, still keeping his eyes away from Troy's.

"Dammit Ryan," Troy paused, starting to think that his reasoning was completely incorrect. "Okay, I see you're not interested in me. But Ryan, can I ask you a question then? Why did you kiss me? Why the hell did you make me feel like this and then just pull it away? Why the-"

He was silenced by Ryan.

Ryan was kissing him.

ooo

It wasn't a kiss of passion or love. It was a kiss of hate and fire. A kiss to show that Ryan was not to be played with.

Ryan couldn't talk so he put all his words into his actions. He bit Troy's lips hard, slammed his tongue into Troy's mouth, intertwined his fingers in Troy's chestnut brown hair, pushed him down onto the hospital bed, but he refused to look Troy in the eyes. He didn't want to see the disgust in Troy's eyes; he didn't want to see that in fact Troy had been lying.

Troy felt himself suffocating under the kiss, the heat. He struggled to push Ryan off of him, but Ryan was holding on stronger than he looked.

Then it was over.

ooo

"What was that, Ryan?" Troy wiped his fingers over his now bruised lips, straightened his mussed shirt and looked at Ryan who was sitting sullenly next to him. A tear rolled down Ryan's cheek.

Troy caught it on his finger and wiped it on his pants. He pushed his hands against the bed.

"Ryan, I don't get it. What kind of games are you trying to play? Maybe I'm just a complete idiot or something, but I don't understand you. I don't understand you at all, Ryan. I don't get it."

Ryan's hands searched his pockets for a pen. He found one and looking frantically for a piece of paper, he finally opted for the wall even though he knew Hannah would be horrified. _IT'S WHAT YOU WANTED, WASN'T IT?_

He wrote in brash caps, hard onto the white plastered wall.

Troy looked at those words and he understood.

ooo

"Dammit Ryan. You are not just some sex toy; I'm not going to treat you badly, Ryan. You have to trust me on this."

Ryan buried his face in his hands; his shoulders were shaking. Troy thought again about how many emotions Ryan could portray without words.

They sat silently.

Troy stared at Ryan, whose face was still in his hands. He watched the stream of moonlight flow through the small slats in the window, how Ryan looked more angelic than ever sitting in his jeans and t-shirt, and that unforgettable scarf. Ryan cried some more.

Troy's heart broke.

He touched Ryan's shoulder, this time expecting that Ryan would jerk away. But he didn't let go, only pulled Ryan in closer, putting Ryan's ear close to his mouth. "I love you."

Ryan's mouth opened in silent joy. He wanted this so badly, but he became guarded again.

"I love you Ryan. I love you so much; I've loved you ever since you walked in that first day at East High. I want to be with you and only you-"

Ryan cut Troy off.

He kissed him.

* * *

I took advice of a reviewer to make it kind of lighter. I'm sorry this chapter dragged on forever; I guarantee you the next chapter will be adorable.

-FallingWithGrace


	9. NOTE

**Author's Note**: Thank you so much for all the feedback and support that you have given me. At 15, your reviews meant the world to me and I enjoyed every bit of my moments on . This is a unique, incredible community and my fellow Tryan lovers helped me so much. Just so you know, I do not know if I intend to continue many of these fictions-perhaps with the exception of _Stolen Light-_or if I happen to find a loose storyline that I plan to edit. I'm sorry, but at 15, I was naive and ambitious and crazy, and even though I still am many of those things-my writing style at age 19 has changed dramatically. If I do continue my fictions, they will be on the account strawberryfinn (so please add that author to alerts/favorites/etc.) Thank you so much for all of your support-your reviews were incredibly beautiful. The fictions that I have up here will be left here unless I decide to revise them, and in that case, they will be removed from the FallingWithGrace account and reposted at strawberryfinn.

I have recently begun working with the _Glee _fandom, so expect to see a lot of fictions from that area

So it's www . fanfiction . net / ~strawberryfinn (without the spaces).

All my love,

FallingWithGrace


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